what would you do?
by micahskitty
Summary: Turns out, possibly having a son out there? It's a pretty effective method of birth control. He just needed to see it wasn't his then he'd move on.
1. no day in sight

**future!fic, au, and a little angsty to start with. my first attempt at a multi-chapter.**

**quick note: a very huge & warm thank you to a huge list of people. i have not met a kinder group of people than those found on this website. you've all been wonderful. :] **

**as always, please let me know what you think and so on. reviews are my applause and like tinkerbell i totally need them to live. **

The plan is to get totally and absolutely hammered because that's what you did for your best friend of twelve years when he's finally getting married. Especially if you were the catalyst of their first major fight, breakup, and the hardest period of their life.

So when Puck learned that Finn was getting married and that he was a Best Man? He did want any good bro would do. He planned the largest, manliest, most badass part known to man and didn't hesitate to call up the old gang from high school.

They're all still unmarried and at various stages in their life. Like Finn? That boy was willingly entering the last form of slavery with Quinn Fabray. That's not to say anyone was all that surprised because if they could survive Baby-Gate? They could survive anything.

Mike is a chef which is kind of a surprise because the guy was always scrawny but he had a real knack when it came to food. He's working at some four-star restaurant in Chicago because it's far enough away from Lima and vegetables that aren't fried that he feels it's pretty accomplished about his life.

Matt is stand-up comedian. Yeah, when Puck first heard that news he laughed uproariously which he supposed was a good enough reason for Matt to be on stage because the mere idea of it? Had Puck in stitches, seriously.

Finn's a teacher. Yeah, that's almost as funny as Matt's profession because there was a board of supposedly intelligent people that had deemed Finn capable of molding the minds of today's youth. He's working at McKinely and while he had always aspired to leave Lima as far behind as possible he found that maybe this place was exactly what he needed all along.

Puck's living the dream, okay. Because he is a rock star. Well, kinda. He hasn't been launched to the top of the Billboards or anything but he makes a living on touring America and playing some pretty badass music. There's even some air play and radio interviews so he's content. And the groupies? Oh dear god, they put the cougars to shame. These girls were ready and willing for _anything_.

He loves every second of it.

But when Finn rings him up and gives him the news? He drops the blonde groupie faster than her panties did that evening and he's out the door, hailing a cab to take him back to his hotel room so he can get his shit together. It's as good excuse as any to go home since his mom won't stop pestering him. And yes, even shredding guitarists and sultry rock-ballad crooning singers were allowed to be mama's boys. Shut up.

Finding Finn's house isn't all that difficult. It's -get this- yellow and he swears that Quinn picked it just to torture Hudson and that thought makes him laugh because when is that psycho not out to get someone? Puck doesn't know when she was crazier - pregnant and hormonal or engaged and bridezilla. It's safe to say he does not go inside and instead waits in the car, watches as the soon-to-be couple says their goodbye and looks so couple-y that he wants to vomit.

Instead he pops another mint and blows the horn again, waving to Quinn when the blonde glanced towards him. Puck can't read my minds but he's pretty sure that whatever Quinn is thinking right now would put his dirty mouth to shame and there ain't enough soap in the world to rinse her mouth out if she managed to verbalize any of it.

Finn's sliding in to his truck and immediately he taps the air freshener that's in the shape of a music note. His sister buys them for him so shut the fuck up, alright? He misses the little twerp sometimes. "Evergreen? Isn't that a christmas scent? You don't even celebrate Christmas."

Puck has to laugh because seriously? The first time they've seen each other and that's what Finn says? He's missed him. "Anna keeps sending them. What else can I do? Besides, it's a good scent. Covers up all the other things that happen in my baby."

And that truck is his baby. It's quite the upgrade from the one he had in high school and it was the first thing he bought when he recieved that first endorsement check.

"So where's the other guys? Surely you don't expect the two of us to have a party." Finn remarked while sticking one hand out of the window, enjoying the balmy breeze that made Ohio's summers almost bearable.

"They're going to meet us there," Puck replied carefully because he's not willing to give away any of the details. They had went to great lengths to keep this secret. Okay, maybe not, because it's not exactly hard to keep something from Finn (hello, baby's paternity anyone?) but they enjoyed the espionage of it all.

The smile on Finn's face is reason enough for Puck to smile. Maybe he's mellowed out in the last few years but he's still a badass and tonight he is determined to prove that to all of them again. "Just enjoy it. And seriously, don't say a fuckin' word to Quinn when this night is over. She already knows not to asks questions."

And Quinn was smart enough not to because she knew when Puck got involved that it was going to be a crazy night. She had ruled out Vegas because after watching the Hangover she's quite certain that these boys could make a sequel that would put that movie to shame. But Columbia was still fair game so that's where they're headed.

Well, kinda. First there's a pit stop to really kick the night off. A bar off of the interstate that advertised wings and women. Who could say no to that? Even while Finn protested and said that no, this tradition wasn't necessary, Puck still led him through the doors.

Inside it wasn't hard to spot Mike and Matt despite the dim lights of the establishment. When the smoking ban in place it was easier to see through the fog of strobes and the fall of glitter. It seemed this place had a never-ending supply of it in the air vents. Not that Puck really cared. That sparkly shit was kinda hot the next morning because each sparkle was a reminder. Of course, he had to buy new sheets each and every time so he's limited himself.

"Chang! Rutherford!"

It was amazing how males could fall easily back into their old habits. Distance and time meant little to them. Each was able to stand and greet and follow up with some complicated hand gesture that they had spent weeks trying to perfect back in the days of McKinley.

"Puckerman! You actually have hair. When did that happen?" Matt asked as he dropped back down into his seat with his beer grasped a moment later.

The two boys had managed to find a table that's close enough to the entertainment but away from one of the massive speakers so that conversation was easier to flow. After twenty questions about his life and Finn's plans and babies Puck is starting to wish that they had sat next to the speaker. At least then everyone would shut the hell up and enjoy the show.

He, for one, was enjoying it. No matter how high the number of one night stands and trysts and threesomes (and numerous other activies that are too explicit to list) he could never get enough. Women just had this ... power over him. That was something he was not ashamed off. They were his motivation behind waking up at the ass crack of dawn every single day to hit up the gym, to eat healthier shit. Don't get him wrong - he enjoys his steaks and burgers and typical macho man food but in healthier doses than his high school days. After all, abs were harder to maintain once you got older, a lesson he's learning all too well.

"- and I heard that Brittany is teaching dance classes now." Evidently Puck has stopped paying attention because he didn't even realize that they were discussing old classmates and where-they-were-now. Granted, he still has a dick unlike these giant vaginas so he's watching the show. Blonde at three o'clock, anyone?

"What about Rachel?" Finn asked between a pull on his corona. "I haven't heard anything from her."

Now that's somewhat shocking to Puck. After all that eye-fucking and flirting in high school he was certain that Berry and Hudson would remain BFFs. "Isn't she on Broadway or some shit?" Puck's just tossing that out there because he doesn't really know but he's kinda curious.

Mike is just shaking his head. "Naw, she never left for New York but no one knows where she is either. Her dads don't even live in Lima anymore. They just kinda ... left."

After a hard shot of tequila Puck finds himself intrigued in the conversation. He motioned for another drink when the pretty redhead walked by but didn't even pause to flirt with her. A first. "So she just vanished? What about that St. Dick guy?"

When the fuck did Mike become Rachel's keeper is what Puck wants to know, because yet again the asian is shaking his head. "They broke up a few months after she finished up school from what I hear. I don't know why she even got back with that fucker after the omlette fiasco."

Thing is, Puck didn't know either but it's not like he spent his nights thinking about that (maybe just one or four). Their last two years of high school were actually pretty bearable. After that first Nationals win? She had cooled. Yeah, she was still a bucket of crazy but it didn't overflow nearly as much. He had actually started to like, talk to her and shit.

"Know what I think?" Puck started as he lifted his recently obtained shot glass in the air and gestured for the others to follow. "We're spending too much time talking about her crazy ass when we could be admiring far better things." They cheered his toast, downed their shots, and dragged their attention towards the stage that was illuminated in neons of bright greens and pinks.

On stage there's a pretty smokin' brunette. Everything on this girl is firm and toned. There's nothing he appreciates more than a girl who spends time on her body. That shit is hot. This woman obviously knew her stuff. Did strippers have a good workout regiment? Had to with the way they worked themselves on poles.

And this girl? She had mastered the art, he swears. There was just something graceful about the movements, something that had him on the edge of his seat, utterly enthralled. It's not some pansy shit either, it's because her ass is _fine_. You don't come here to appreciate the eyes or their soul or any other part. Just the basics so that's what he did. Not that it mattered anyway because there's a fedora on her head angled just so.

As hot as that hat is on a chick he can't wait until she tossed it because when he gets his hook up for the evening (fuck Finn if he thinks Puck isn't getting laid tonight) he wants to imagine _this_ girl. Her petite fingers are grasping the rim and even though her back is to them he's leaning even further forward, grateful that he's only had a few shots otherwise he'd be sprawled on the floor. Gravity is a bitch after too many shots, he's learned.

Chocolate curls fall further down her back now that they're not contained and he just has this ... this _feeling_. He just _knows_ that her hair is soft and those curls will bounce back after being tugged on and he thinks he can smell citrus and white jasmine. The scent is familiar, gnaws at something in the pit of his stomach. All he wants is for her to turn around. To turn around and just ... well, fuck, he doesn't know. He wants _something_.

Matt must have a sixth sense about shit like this because he's calling the girl over, enticing her with a five dollar bill. Seriously? A fiver? That boy really needs to get laid. But Puck can kind of understand because there's something about this chick that makes him want to reach for a bill higher than a one too. Mike's upping the ante by holding up a ten and Finn is just relaxed back in his seat with a grin that was probably worth more than any amount of money he could have produced. Woman flocked to his good-guy appeal. Fucker.

Puck is all smirks and trademark cockiness because he's getting his way without having to hold up a single note. She's interested enough to head towards them and she is fucking on her knees and crawling. Seriously? Could this night get any better? All that hair is spilled in front of her face, a curtain between them and he wants it all to just be gone. Preferably over one shoulder as he has her bent over a bed or couch or some hard surface.

Her hands are tiny when they start to brush through her hair, pull the strands through her fingers before she reached out to collect the money that was offered with the ease that was expected from a woman in this profession.

That's when he sees her eyes. Remember all that shit about admiring the basics? Fuck it because her eyes? Those eyes? They've got him all excited. Puck doesn't even think he can remember how to breathe.

It's not until she blinks, breaks the spell and suddenly gets up to stand and march off that he realizes what the fuck just happened. Those eyes? Fuck, they're familiar and he knows why. He knows _who_.

And judging by all the stunned looks and dropped jaws that were currently at his table, everyone else recgonized her too. Rachel Berry. Looks like she hadn't dropped off the face of the earth after all. This information is hard to digest and he finds himself seeking the answer in the bottom of a tumbler of scotch. He's not sure who it belonged to or where it came from but it was downed before any of the members of his party could protest.

"Oh, she's on stage alright," Mark began and Puck swears that Rutherford's eyes were getting ready to spring from their sockets in a crazy, cartoon fashion. "It just ain't Broadway."

Finn swallowed hard. Of all the things to see tonight. He's not sure if this is the best party ever or the absolute worst. As the announcer makes excuses overhead ("you guys are just too hot for miss starr!") the silence starts to descend over the table.

"I'm headed to the bar." Puck announced before he stood, left the now empty glass on the table and strutted towards the oasis in this fucked up shit.

But he ended up making a detour. He's been to enough of these joints, hosted enough parties and has enough celebrity to know how it works. He is out the side door before he even realizes what's happening. The door to the wardrobe room is ajar and fuck if he doesn't push it open, ignores the squeals of delight from the girls that have seen enough magazine covers to recgonize him.

Any other time and he would be _all over it_ but tonight he's got a mission and unfortunately, none of these girls are on his to-do list. Instead he finds the slumped over form of one Miss Berry who is crying so hard her shoulders are shaking. There is way too much alcohol in his system for him to feel too sympathetic so he just grabs her arm and yanks her out of the seat.

Ignoring her protests, sputters, and slaps on the biceps he drags her from the comfort of her changing area and out the door. Rain has started to fall but it's just a light splattering that he doesn't really care.

Judging by the way she shakes and glares, rubs at the smeared mascara and eyeliner that streaked down her face, she does. "You have no right, Noah Puckerman."

"Yeah?" he says lowly, almost dangerous in the way he speared her with a look. "What the fuck are you doing here Berry? Santana I could see here but you? Long way from Broadway."

Puck doesn't appreciate the changes that he sees. There's no sparkle to her eyes when Broadway is mentioned. Instead it's a dark shadow that flickered briefly in jaded eyes. A hard swallow and a shake of his head dispells the notion that he _cares_ because he doesn't. He just doesn't like her being on that stage, being ridiculed because if he made it out of Lima, out of Ohio? She damned well should have. No excuses.

"Don't you dare judge me, Puckerman. Don't you dare. You can't even being to comprehend my circumstances."

"What? You tried and they gave your solo away?" Puck scoffed and found himself shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. She's shaking so hard he's almost afraid for her (not of, obviously).

When her jaw clenches and those muscles start to tic? He's a little bit turned out. But then her words are spat with such _venom_ that he doesn't have a clue who the fuck this bitch is, but he's not a fan. "I'll have you know that some of us were forced to grow up. Some of us couldn't chase after their dreams because there were circumstances behind our control. Some of us have to be responsible."

The way she says that? Pisses him off. Like he's some immature little kid. He's not that high school loser who was forced to give up his first child and he's damned sure not some bitch that Berry can push around. He's all up in her personal space now, no regard given to the pain sure to be caused from the press of the brick wall against her underdressed, frail form. She's not shaking anymore. Too livid, he figures.

"What the hell Berry? Since when did I become your punching bag because you failed? Sounds like you're still that selfish bitch you were back in high school. What? Things were too hard so you fucking gave up? Don't you lecture me because I'm doing what you are obviously too fucked up to do. Seriously? Flaunting yourself to strangers like that? It's fucked up. You're fucked up."

Never in his life has he disrespected a woman so much but he's so full of rage he doesn't know what else to do. His hands are clenched so tight the knuckles are white. He really, really does not like her being here, dressed like that, pushing all his goddamn buttons. But then there's tears and he groans because really? What the hell is he supposed to do with that?

"Rach, don't cry. I just want to know why you're here, how you got here..." he trails off and his voice is soft and low and everything that he hates.

When her shoulders start to shake he's absolutely fucked because the only thing he knows to do is pat her on the back and so he pulls her close and does just that, unable to hear what she muttered against his shoulder inbetween hiccuping sobs that wracked her body. He frowned and pulled her away slightly, trying to find her eyes inbetween that transculcent film of moisture. "What Berry? Speak english."

"I have a son."

And suddenly he's pulling away from her because his stomach is rolling and all that alcohol in his system? All that money spent on pouring drinks down his throat this evening? It's all wasted because he's puking against the side of the building. Yeah, he's been on a few benders and the burn of an alcohol-induced vomiting is always the worst but when it's forced by a confession that has literally shaken the foundation of his world? Yeah, this is the worst.

"How old?" he rasped as she just stood there, looking everywhere but at him, at his mess.

"Four."

Exactly the amount of time that he had been gone, the amount of time that he had left, the amount of time since their ... No. No fucking way. "Who's the daddy?"

Her chin juts forward, "Jesse."

Never in her life had Rachel Berry been a good liar. Career choices didn't change that. Puck is aware that she just lied to him.

But he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be involved in this shit. She wants to pull a Quinn and claim some other dick to be the daddy? Fine. Fuck this. "I see. Shouldn't he be providing for the kid?"

"He's gone." There's a bit of the venom in her voice then and Puck doesn't dare question his whereabouts. What a fucking loser. He knew he should've just kept pummeling the kid after their first encounter. "Don't say a word about this Puck. I mean it. I don't want anyone to know. It's why I left Lima."

"And this? This is your solution? You're going to run away and strip your way through life to provide for this kid? I thought you were smarter than that."

Rachel's eyes become slits and there's an unbridled hatred rising in that gaze. This feels like more familiar territory. "And I thought you were better than what everyone else thought. Looks like we're both wrong."

And when she turns to leave? He doesn't reach for her, doesn't stop her. Instead he goes inside and drags the guys out because Rachel be damned if he stays. If he did he might do something crazy like steal her away to his basement or knock some fucking sense in her.

So he does exactly what he just accused her of, he runs. They move on to the next bar and he gets so wasted that they pour him in a hotel room that's not far from their stop. They're all stuck there and having a good time even while he sulks, foul-tempered over in the corner of the room with little to be said.


	2. the darkest night

**a/n:**

**at this point, i've been awake for nearly twenty-four hours so all mistakes are mine & i'm sorry about that! too much work this week and next week doesn't look better but i'll keep this one updated pretty frequently providing that interest is still in it.**

**what would you do?**

It turns out that it's a little harder to get back into the swing of things than he had thought. Puck can't get that girl from the other night. Yeah, she's _that girl_ because thinking of her name, of his version of her and what he met the other night? It's a little too much for him.

And there's not enough alcohol, there's not enough girls, there's not enough chords or songs or venues to making everything right. This is a road block and his typical style -running straight _through_ it- doesn't seem to be working. Instead of making progress he's moving backwards. He's traded in his man badge for a wimp one and is camped out in front of yearbooks. Yes, he has one from every single year of high school and despite the number of public ones he defaced his are pristine.

Of course hers is the first picture he happens to turn to. The corner of the page is folded over, marked, and there's a star outlined in pink around her photo because that was her signature. A flick of the pages later and he's on the back page where she has written the longest entry he's even seen in that curly, girly writing of hers.

He doesn't bother to read it again; he has it memorized. Shut up. They were friends, okay? And yeah, maybe there was a drunken hookup as a result of a party gone wild. And alright, maybe he wasn't all _that_ drunk but he's not going to tell her that he actually _wanted_ her. Booze was so much easier to blame it on.

That's what they did. The next day, as soon as the sun was up, they were back to their previous places; her by Jesse St. James and he inbetween the legs of the nearest cougar because the woman smelled like strawberries instead of citrus and white jasmine. Both knew their places - knew what this was.

So to think she has a kid from that? Naw, that's not fucking possible because it's Rachel Berry. She would have made quite the scene and demanded honesty from him. After all, she was the one who had blown their cover on the baby-gate scandal that rocked the halls of McKinley.

What the fuck ever, man. All this thinking? It's getting him nowhere. Unlike other men he has been down this road. Hell no, he is not walking it again. That kid isn't his - he's convinced. It is obviously Jesse's and the little price couldn't handle his dreams being ruined so he ran.

Tired now, Puck ran a hand through his hair and groaned. Immediately the book is slammed shut and tossed on the other side of the hotel room. Why the hell was he getting so reflective for anyway? _That girl_ had made it clear that he was not involved, that he wasn't welcome. Puck isn't a bastard - he's not going to force himself into her life in order to save her because that just isn't him. That's Finn's role.

...except that bastard is getting married so he's too busy to put on a suit of armor. And Mike lives in Chicago now. It's not like he'd uproot himself to keep an eye on that being of absolute insanity. Matt's up in Canada at the moment so Puck can't count on him either.

"Shiiiiit," he growled and pushed himself upwards. Collecting the book it's thrown back in his suitcase without little direction or care. "This is so messed up."

How many times had that very same line been recited over the years? Too many. Way too many. Yet here he was, cussing fate up one side and down the other. Before he even know what the hell his body was doing the phone was in his hand and he's dialing the information number to try and track down information on this girl.

Thankfully for him the operator is a female and is easily presuaded when he drops his voice down, rumbles over the line and just oozes general sex appeal. It's not that hard when you're a stud like he is.

Turns out Rachel lives in Columbia, has a listed number, and is residing in a house that he manages to get the address for. If he thought about it, he'd be a little scared by how easy it was to obtain personal information these days. With the phone shoved in his pocket and his schedule cleared for the week he ran out to his truck with an overnight bag that really held a few days worth of clothes despite being so small.

In the cab he waited, ran a hand down the stubble that started to form on his jaw. What the fuck, man? What was he doing? He was putting the truck in drive and easing from his spot, is what. But why?

To see the kid. He just had to see this kid. Once he saw that it wasn't his, that it looked nothing like him, he'd be okay. Then he could forget all about this and go back to sleeping with girls again like this had never happened. Turns out, possibly having a son out there was a fucking awful method of birth control. Little Puck wasn't too pleased with him and that shit? It's embaressing.

The drive is easy enough. He knows his way back to Ohio because it's home. Like, it's programmed into his brain by this point. Any troubles he has with navigation is soothed by the aide of his GPS which was a gift from his mother. Bless her Jewish heart. Rachel's house is just two miles away by the time the dashboard clocks reads two a.m. and he figures the girl is still at work but he drives by anyway.

Puck wishes he hadn't. Her house isn't all that great. It's no place to raise a kid and the neighborhood isn't all that great. Briefly, he wonders where the fuck her dads are. How could they let this happen to her?

How could he?

Before that thought can drag him any further into agony he's pulling to a stop outside the house, against the curb, and he makes sure all the doors are fucking locked before he gets out of it because he's not going to jail for some idiots attempt to burgalarize. Not tonight, anyway.

A quick inspection of the house reveals a few lights on, movement inside. Someone's there. Should he knock? Well, no, probably not. He really shouldn't even be here. Trying telling his fist that because it's currently rapping on the door.

What if she has a pimp? I mean, being a stripper is like a classy hooker right? What if she's a hooker too? Or what if there's a new guy in there who has stepped up to be the father? Or a drug dealer?

Puck groaned and knocked again. These thoughts? Not fucking helping. Eventually a teenager comes to the door and he swears she snaps her gum three times before bothering to say "'sup?" to him.

Was he like this as a teen? If so, someone needed to invite a time machine and just go back and beat his punk ass because this shit was all stupid. The girl is staring at him and he gets the feeling it's because she thinks he's crazy. He can't blame her - it is two a.m. after all. "Hey. I'm ... Noah. Rachel here?"

There. That was pretty casual. He managed to say all that without grimacing or barging in the door. He's pretty calm, right?

"Rach is at work. She doesn't get off until like, six. Well, sometimes. Sometimes it's later because there's a - " Puck stops listening. Girls like this? Too easy to tune out which is what he does the vast majority of the time. There's no appeal to the young ones anymore.

Puck holds up one hand to shut her up. "Whatever. Listen, is the kid here?"

Now the girl is suspicious. "Why? What's it to you? You're not like, a cop right?"

If there is a God out there, he will just smite Puck now because anything would be better than standing on the stoop of this house with his heart racing and this girl and her fucking _gum_. "Yeah. I'm a cop. We have some concerns about the kid's well-being."

"_Shit_," she says suddenly and before he realizes what's happening her eyes are welling up with unshed tears. The hell? Smite him because tears? He _hates_ tears. "I'm sorry. We're d-doing the best that we can. I make sure he goes to b-bed on time and brushes his teeth and every...everything. I do!"

Okay, so now Puck is just convinced that there are no higher powers because if there were? He would be dead. No, seriously, because being six feet under is far more appealing than the frown and the forced words. "Look lady, it's not that big of a deal. I'll just pop in and see if the kid's okay. You're not in trouble."

That's as close as soothing as he's going to get. And when this is all over? He's probably going to kill Berry for hiring someone stupid as this chick because she doesn't even ask to see his badge or anything before the door is swung open and he's invited in.

"Thank you. I'll make this quick." Yeah, he would. He just wanted to see the kid, see that they were nothing alike, and then move on. That's it.

But then there's all these pictures decorating the hallway which is decorated in crayon and words and bright stencils. It's so child-like and Berry that he can't help but smile and that? That's fucked. He's got to be more tired than he realized.

The phots on the wall are a progression of the kid's life. They start from a newborn and an exhausted, young Rachel that was taken in the hospital. There's the kid walking, sitting by a birthday cake covered in icing, a standard bathtub picture, one where's smiling so big that's reminiscent of the one Rachel had back in the days of school, there's a picture of both mom and son and they're at the park. There's so many of them.

And oddly? Puck can feel his heart clenching because that kid? He's sporting a fucking mohawk. Yeah, his hair is dark and buzzed on the sides and there's a _mohawk_. This is cruel. There's no pictures of grandparents or friends or anyone he can recgonize so it just feels sad. Yeah, this might have been Rachel Berry's house but he has no clue who this woman is. Not a fuckin' clue.

"Daddy?" the voice is soft and low and (fuck it) _cute_. Puck's attention is drawn towards the door that has opened to his left at some point during his examination of the photos on the wall. That one single word has the ability to break his heart.

That chick is starting to come down the hall and he feels _trapped_ because he cannot turn away from this tiny figure that's standing in the archway of what Puck assumes leads into his bedroom. Unable to do much else he crouched low, balanced on the balls of his feet to remain at eye-level with the kid.

"No I'm not your- I mean, that's not me..." Puck gently rubbed the back of his neck because this was getting awkward. Especially since he could see himself in this boy and now Puck wasn't able to think of him objectively. The boy was no longer 'some kid'. _Fuck_.

Now the boy is rubbing at his eyes with tiny, curled fists and he looks so sleepy and _adorable_ that Puck is certain that his sanity is crumbling. "Oh." is all he says.

"What's your name?" Puck asks quietly. He swears there are tears in his eyes because of the truth of this situation? It's a lot heavier than he thought. What did he expect he'd get by coming here? His gut told him - warned him it was a bad idea. When he left Ohio he should _not_ have come back, fuck Hudson. Bastard was always getting him into some type of drama.

"Noah."

And that? That's how Noah Puckerman's world got so _fucked_ that he's quite certain the next word out of the boy's mouth - excuse him - Noah's mouth were going to be the death of him.

"Mom says I'm named after my dad." the younger Noah pauses and just watches, waits in the expectant fashion that is so common amongst boys his age. Before Puck can register any of this, can comprehend, the boy has turned and entered his room once more.

When Puck stands he's got both of his hands pressed against his eyes, starts counting his breath to try and calm down. Badasses do not hyperventilate but there's a part of him - the little shred that can still function properly - that wants to tell that chick to get him a paper bag because breathing? Not easy.

"Meet my daddy." Noah says in his child-like voice that was sufficient enough to keep Puck grounded, for the moment until he realizes that Noah has a scrap of paper in his hand A photo? He accepts the worn photograph and has to choke back a sob. He's not known to be emotional but seriously? You try being introduced to _your son_ for the first time.

It's a picture of him and Rachel and they look stunning. It's one of the pool parties that Kurt hosted and they're both tanned and glistening with proud smiles on their faces. His mohawk is trimmed and proud, everything he was before he came _here_, to this house.

"He looks like you," Noah continues and the only thought that Puck can form is _fuck Rachel_ because this is too much. This little boy, his little boy, is so much like his mom. His brown eyes are wide and expressive and they make Puck squirm, like his mothers used to. It was because of those goddamn eyes that he ended up with a kid in the first place.

This first meeting was going well. The first time he wanted to meet his kid he didn't want to be crying. Fathers should be badass, not in tears, but there wasn't any way to stop it at this point. He doesn't even notice that the girl who let him in is on the phone, explaining the situation to the voice on the other side. All he can focus on is Noah who is standing there, rubbing at eyes because he's getting ready to cry too. Why, Puck doesn't even know, but it breaks his heart.

"Why so sad?" Noah asks as his head tilts to the side but before Puck can answer the boy has stepped behind his door again, reemerges with a bunny rabbit that's worn and dirty. It was extended towards Puck to appease him. "Mommy gives me Bunny when I'm sad. Want him?"

Leave it to Rachel Berry's child to be offering up a stuffed animal in order to cheer up a badass. He really doesn't know if he should be laughing or punching someone but he takes the bunny too, a strange look crossing over his face.

"Thank you Noah. I'm not sad. I'm happy." As happy as he's been the last few years of his life because this experience? It triumphs any sold out concert or radio request or the sensation of a new song being played for the first time. This is an entirely new world for him and he _likes _it.

"Boys don't cry," Noah reminds Puck but he doesn't stop staring at him.

Puck tries a smile and he finds that it stays, especially when he looks down at the bunny and photo. "Sometimes they do. Sometimes it's okay."

"And all little boys should be in bed by now..." the sound of that voice has Puck's head whipping around so fast it's nearly painful. "And all big boys should probably be outside." Rachel says it sweet enough but her arms are crossed tight over her taut stomach and Puck has no arguement.

"Mommy!" Noah exlclaims, full of excitement as he rushes over to hug her. Immediately he's scooped up into her waiting arms and kisses are rained down over his face, on top of his mini-mohawk. Rachel is all softness and smiles and that maternal gig? S'fucking hot when it's her. "He looks like daddy."

Puck watches when a look of anguish crosses over Rachel's features and all she can do is nod, numb and press another kiss to the temple of her son's head. "Bedtime for Noah." Even though Noah makes a face that protests this he is pretty tired so he wiggles free and marches over to Puck.

"Bunny please?" He's polite but there's an undeniable sense of Rachel Berry to the request that makes it seem more like a demand and Puck is all too happy to comply with this, hands the stuffed rabbit back to the boy and gives another smile that's even more hesitant than the first.

"It was nice meeting you Noah."

When Noah smiles? Puck can't help but grin and watch as the boy moves back into his bedroom. The girl, the babysitter, is moving into the room to because the look Rachel is giving Puck right now is somewhat scary and she doesn't want to be involved in this, doesn't get paid enough.

Now it was time to meet the bear and never in all his years as he understood that saying until now. Is it wrong that wishes Rachel would just go back into hibernation? Wasn't that what they would call the period of her absence?

"What are you doing here?" Her voice is low and there's an anger laced with every syllable that he's not used to hearing from her. Any other time and he would have continued to press her buttons just to see how mean she could get. But tonight?

Fuck that.

"Do you really think you have the right to ask any questions? Maybe I should be asking a few of my own. Like, why didn't you tell me about that boy in that room? How come you never thought to puck up a fucking phone, Rachel? Would that have been so hard?" There's a part of him that just wants to grab her, to just ... _shake_ her until she sees sense.

Now Rachel can't meet his eyes. Instead there's a smudge on the wall, a new tree in the background of one of the pictures - did she have wrinkles in that one? Details are hard to decipher when the edge of her world are doused in red, rage causing her muscles to tighten. "It's none of your business."

That's her answer? Seriously? Because as far as Puck is concerned, it takes two to make a fuckin' baby. Yeah, he might have skipped the majority of his classes but that? That's some basic shit he learned in middle school with that hot freshman. And now she's walking away from him and he swears that if she were anyone else he would probably just like, kick her.

"Rachel!" he's not at the level of yelling yet but that's because he's trying to be corteous of the audience in the same house, trying to be a good _dad_ and not expose his child to an inapproriate conversation as Rachel would say. Puck just doesn't want Noah to realize how horrible his mother is, to deny a child the right to their dad? That's fucked.

There's a part of him - a large, overwhelming part, that thinks that this? This backwards ass shit is far worse than anything Quinn did to him. At the very least the blonde had come clean (well, Rachel did for her) and Puck was aware of the decisions that were to be made regarding the life that he helped create. But this boy? His fuckin' _son_? He didn't have a clue, not a single clue. Probably would have gone the rest of his life without knowing about his existence unless the brat happened to track him down years later. That would have been an awkward conversation.

"Go away Noah." ... not that this conversation was any less awkward. In fact, it was probably even more so because he's somewhat divided. Yeah, he hates her... but him and her? Together? They created that little boy that's a few feet away and that's not something he can just let go of. It's no longer as simple as 'go away Noah' or 'this isn't your business'.

Again, _fuck that_.

Puck has never been violent when it came to women - he really hasn't. There has been plenty of time when he would like nothing more to just stuff a sock in a girl's mouth (especially the one who was _still_ trying to walk away from him) but he refrains. He's a good guy. But Rachel? Right here, like this? He is testing what little patience he has left on such little sleep.

Maybe he realizes this is going nowhere or maybe he's just tired or maybe he's trying to prove he's the more mature of the two because he's actually pretty calm, pretty mellow when he says, "Look Rach, I just want to know. I just want to talk."

Finally -finally- she pauses and for a second he thinks he can breathe, thinks it is safe again but when she turns and there's tears brimming in her eyes? He's back on shaky grounds. This chick had some crazy moodswings.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Puck is just standing there - blinking. Seriously? She's making small chat when they've got a fuckin' kid in the next room? Was there steam coming out of his ears yet? Since he's not sure and he simply doesn't trust himself to speak, he nods.

Rachel heads for the kitchen and starts tossing coffee beans into a ready and waiting strainer. With practiced ease (what wasn't she perfect at?) she has a cup of coffee brewing and the scent is enough to ease just the slightest bit of tension from her shoulders. Two mugs are pulled from the cabinet and set right side up on the small counter space that was left over.

As it continues to brew, they stand in silence. They're both looking at each other, blinking, and then turning away. The game continues until it's broken by her turning away, pouring the coffee into the mugs and spooning sugar into hers. He just collects the mug and breathes it in; this house, the scent, her.

"I won't apologize," she starts off and one of his eyebrows starts to rise, faster than his temper which is pretty impressive. "I don't feel like I did anything wrong."

See this shit? This girl - this ... he can't think of a single semi-decent, non-explicitive description to refer to her as. He's literally convinced that if he does snap, does kill her? No jury of his fellow peers will find him guilty. This is the meaning of _justifiable homicide_. Instead he manages a sip of his coffee and over the steam the liquid produces he watches her.

Even her coughs to clear her throat are dainty and lady-like and ... kind of a turn-on which is the very _last_ thing he wants to be thinking about her right now. "I did what I felt like was best for me and for you and for Noah."

He doesn't realize that he's slammed the mug so hard on the counter until the scalding java is starting to burn the side of his hand. Puck hisses in protest, breathes through clenched teeth, and then inhales deeply when she's dabbing at the mess with a dishtowel produced from god-knows-where (his mother did that shit all the time. were there such thing as kitchen gnomes?).

"Hear me out." What other choice does he have? Why else is he here? She's still wiping at his hand with the towel even though he is certain the mess is gone and while the pain is still there it's nothing in comparison to how tight his chest is, how limited his patience is.

"We were both so young and we weren't even together. A child was going to ruin my life - our life - and there was no way in hell I would be able to make it to Broadway then. We would have both been stuck in Lima for the rest of our lives and I would have been that pathetic, unwed teenage mother who feigned being drunk to lose her virginity to the local womanizer. I would have been a statistic, a mockery, and I couldn't cope with that. I suffered enough through high school, Puck. Imagine what it would have been like for me out there. For Noah."

Both of his hands are starting to clench again but they're loosening just as soon, the muscles too tired to tense up yet again. In a fucked up way this all makes sense. Well, kind of. There's that issue about her being a fake-drunk and losing her virgnity but that? That can wait. First he's got to make some shit clear.

"And you didn't think I could have handled that? That I wouldn't have wanted to be a part of his life? Of yours?"

That breath Rachel takes? It's shaky and ragged and he's watching her hard now because it sounds so _fragile_ and unlike the Rachel Berry he's met here tonight or ... ever. "I know you could and would have handled it. You would have stayed there with me until the very end. You probably would have married me and raised the baby and we would both have been stuck there. But I... I couldn't do that to you. You had plans, Puck. You always planned on getting away, on getting out. If I would have made you stay- you would have hated me. I would have hated me. One of was going to lose our dreams. It didn't have to be both of us."

There's something in the air in this part of Ohio, or maybe just in the air vents of this house because before he knows it, he's crying. Fucking crying. This is so far from badass that it's a little sickening. And Rachel? She's standing there with these wide eyes and a bottom lip that just won't _stop_ wobbling no matter how many times she bites into it.

But she's not crying which is starting to make Puck wonder which one of them is the badass in this scenario. It's not looking in his favor, not tonight, anyway.

She managed to mask another ragged breath behind the rim of her coffee mug which was palmed carefully, a way of support because this night? She had never wanted it to happen. Never. "I told Noah about you. Everything and if anything were to happen to me, he would have went to you. My dads.. they... they don't exactly know my situation here. They know about Noah, yes, but not about my ..."

Puck frowned because her job? Yeah, not exactly appealing for the mother of his child but he's not about to open that can of worms tonight because they're finally making progress. And by progress he means that he doesn't want to smother her in her sleep, so that's good. Even with her reasoning and her logic and the fact that he _wants_ to understand, he can't. This... well, really, it's not exactly all that surprising. That was Rachel Berry - always sacraficing for others so that they could improve and move on while she was stuck.

Yeah, he might have hated her (or tried to or wanted to or whatever) if he had been stuck in Lima because of this situation but now? When she has basically forced him out, kept him away, in the dark? He's not sure which situation makes him angrier. Truth be told he would like nothing more than to go back to bed and forget about all of this. But another soft breath in through his nose has him inhaling that scent again and before he can register it, he's pulling her against him and holding tightly, her coffee mug squished between them which is as uncomfortable as it sounds.

But he doesn't want to let go and while she's not exactly falling into him, she hasn't stepped away. "Please don't hate me..."

Now he can feel her tears and shifts, takes her cup to set it next to him so that she can cry. He doesn't care that this is a vintage shirt or that he smells or that she's got 'gentleman's club' scent all over her. All he knows is that this is the mother of his kid (his son!) and she's so fragile that it's causing his own heart to break from empathy or some shit.

"I don't hate you," Puck manages to murmur against the press of brown hair that he's buried his face against. "I couldn't hate you. Rach, we've made something beautiful. We did. But I'm mad and I think I trust Quinn more than you, but I don't hate you."

When she mumbles thank you all soft and watery he wants to take back those words. More than anything he wants to rewind and pause and just relieve the night that all this happened because seriously? While that night was fan-fucking-tastic he's not sure that it was worth all of this.

And when her head lifts and those brown eyes are so close to him, all red and bloodshot? He decides that anything, any amount of suffering was worth this because he has a _son. _A kid with a mohawk and someone to teach football and watch sports with. Maybe even guitar, if that was his interest. And kids? They're babe magnets if you know all the right locations to hit up.

Oh shit, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about that when Rachel is still standing there with wide, expectant eyes. Words are caught in his throat and he doesn't know what to say or what to do. Does he release her? Does he leave? Can he trust her enough not to just pack and bail? Should a lawyer be called so they can better negotiate custody and the like?

"We've got to get this shit sorted out, Rach." His voice is still soft which is somewhat unusual but not all that surprising. The things this girl did to him. "I don't want to ... make things worse for you but I need to be a part of this, be a part of his life. I already missed so much."

All Rachel can do is nod because he's right and that sucks. She hated to be the one who wasn't in control, arranging every little thing to the last, minute detail. "You're right." She sniffles a little and starts to draw back, to wipe at her nose and red eyes and try to look serious since they were getting ready to have a serious discussion. "Noah I - "

If anyone asks him what the hell happened he's going to claim a loss of sanity and his ability to think because hearing his name? From her? It's got him thinking about the night when he learned about her profession and the tie-around dress she has on now and their proximity. He's never really had to _trust_ a girl to want her because you don't need to know her life story to know which position she likes it best or how good her mouth works. Anyway, before she can even blink or finish that statement or rile him up any fucking further he's kissing her. Hard and demanding and everything that he's made of. Not this bawling his eyes out, professing hurt feelings and pride shit that has been happening all night.

He's a stud and it's about goddamn time (he) she remembers just that. On the plus side? It _is_ Rachel Berry and he would be a liar if he said he didn't want this, even after all that had happened because there's just something about this girl. If she's not making him want to light himself on fire or thinking about the number of places he can throw himself off of then something is wrong. And tonight? He's managed to count at least one hundred and twenty seven places. It's a record and he's got something to prove.

And when she starts kissing back and all that pent up aggression and rage and tension starts to ease? He's a goner. Sure, Puck does not have a clue what the hell is supposed to happen from here because unfortunately there's no books or songs about what you should do when your one-night-stand fantasy-dream-girl is knocked up, hides the pregnancy, the kid, and becomes a fucking stripper. If this was some other dude (and he wasn't about to get laid) he would pat the poor sucker on the back and laugh later.

Right now, there's nothing funny about the way she's biting on his lip and her roaming hands. Not a single damn thing. She starts to push him backwards, into the counter so there's more stability and it's easier to ease herself upwards, on him, and he's all too willing to comply.

Until that fucking cup (he swears those kitchen gnomes are out to fucking get him) somehow gets repositioned beside his elbow and is falling down to the ground, shattered into tiny ceramic shards as lukewarm coffee starts to stain the tiles. It's both a blessing and a curse in disguise. Especially since it summons both babysitter and the child in her care to the kitchen who stand there with wide eyes, unable to interpret the dishelved, panting forms of the adults in the kitchen.

Rachel, as usual, is speaking. "Noah..." instinct causes him to look towards her but her gaze is trained on her son - their son - and she seems nervous judging by the way she tugs on her hair. "Meet your father."

That floors him because he wasn't prepared for this. A part of him figured this would be a fight, a disaster, and it would end in one or both of them strangling the other. They're that type. Well, he is but she can be pressed to the limit, he knows firsthand (a story for a different time, don't ask).

Noah Jr. is all wide eyes and gasps but still too afraid to move further because of the broken mug. And what does Puck do? He bails. Probably not the brightest move but after some mumbled excuse and a dark look towards Rachel he's out the front door with a slam to announce his departure as if the silence wasn't enough.

The family - yes, the three are a family even if they don't acknowledge this - all shed tears for various reasons as both son and mother watch the door as if expecting him to walk back in. He doesn't, and so Noah is sleeping in the bed with her to ease his troubled mind, to erase the concerns that it was his fault that Puck left. After reassuring him that even if he broke a thousand mugs, she would never leave, Noah fell asleep against Rachel. With his head tucked against her she wept.

And Puck? He beat the shit out of some street punk and then sat in his truck with bloodied knuckles and watched the sun rise. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He really, really doesn't know why he left but it was all _too much_. Puck as a father? What if he was like his dad? What if he started to get drunk (which he did) and sleep around (which he does) and break his promises (which has has done)? Should he just cut all ties now before Noah had a chance to know him, to get his heart broken by his inabilities? He's not finding faith or courage in himself so he just sits there, keys in the ignition and no direction to head towards.

He wants to believe more than anything that he's not his father, that Noah's life won't be so fucked up that he knocks up two girls before he's married, but Puck is having his doubts. This long, dark night doesn't seem to have an end to it despite the rays of the sun that peek over the hemisphere. All he can see is grey.

And the weirdest shit of all? He just wants Rachel to tell him it'll all be okay, that having doubts and worries is normal.

Meet your father, she had said. Yeah,what an impression he had left on that kid. Puck leans back in his seat and sighs - long and low.

What the hell did he do now?


	3. your mom's a stripper

**oh man, the delay. i suck. but i'm here now and short of a quick road trip, i'll be around for the next few weeks.**

**my muse has returned and it's due in large part to all the kind words and demands for an update on this. sorry it took so long. :/**

**what would you do?**

Puck does not go back to that house after that night. Not even when the sun started to rise. Not even when his throat felt so tight as he watched fathers and sons in the park. Sure, he has had moments when he feels like he's drowning but this moment? He's certain that the light of day will never be visible to him again no matter how many nights he wastes away, waiting until the sun rose again.

He tries his best not to think about Rachel and especially not about Noah. His life? It's fucked enough, thank you. No need to toss in a make-believe family that is only held together by DNA. It's not like he ever actually cared for Rachel...

Okay, so maybe that's a lie. There had to have been feelings for her, he knows this. Because even when he fucked up Finn's life and slept with Quinn there had been actual, honest-to-god _feelings_. He's man enough to admit that.

So sleeping with Rach? It had to have been because of that because not only was she involved with someone else, she was also a bucket of crazy. Which he kinda liked because seriously? There was never a dull moment. Even if all their fights ended the same (his eyes rolling, her feet stomping) there was always a pretty colorful arguement and she would always find some new way to apologize or make him do it.

But now things are so goddamn complicated. Even without the addition of Noah, things were fucked. That girl he met in high school? She's a _stripper_. Sure, that's a decent profession for a night out and a possible hook-up but when you know the person? Puck _knows_ Rach. He knows her dreams, her nightmares, her goals (does she remember them?), her little OCD tendancies and most of all he knows she's a _mother_.

He doesn't even want to think about his own mom being a stripper. That shit just ain't something he wants to contemplate. Not because his mom is unattractive or anything but because it's just not _her_.

And it damned sure wasn't Rachel Berry.

But who was he to complain about any of? Slamming shut the front door of her little house had probably caused a few more doors to slam shut. One of those doors was the right to complain, to manage her life.

The other? The right to see his goddamn son.

Did Noah cry that night when he left after their introduction? Puck cried when his dad left and he had been older, had started to recgonize the signs. But Puck's kid, his Noah? That boy was so innocent and sweet and goddamn _perfect_ that yeah, he probably cried. And Rachel probably cried. Scratch that, he knows she did, because there was no way she didn't. Underneath this new jaded armor of hers, she's still this girl who has high hopes and is waiting.

Or so he tells himself. He wants Rachel to wait on him, for him to get his shit together. Doesn't matter that he doesn't deserve that because frankly? Neither one of them deserved anything good right now. Turns out that despite the best of intentions they're both pretty warped.

Is it sick that he feels a little less lonely knowing that? Knowing that he's not really alone, not anymore, because there _is_ someone out there that's just like him?

These thoughts? They're not really helpful. If anything, they're spiraling him deeper into a state of depression that he just ... auto-pilots through. Maybe if he had been paying more attention to his actions he would have picked up on the fact that his body, his back-stabbing hands and feet and fucking _heart_ had led him back to the club where all of this had started.

He sits in his idling truck in one of the parking spots and stares up at the white building and its bright signs and neons. Even though it's the easiest thing in the world, he cannot bring himself to shut off the ignition and head inside.

What would be the point anyway? What could he do? Drag her off the stage and save her? Puck's not _that_ stupid. There is no way he's the hero. Never has been, never will. No matter how much he tries to fantasize about being in that position. That suit of armor any other guy has built in beneath their skin? Yeah, he's traded that shit in a long time ago. It was too heavy to carry around.

So he doesn't.

He does not turn off his truck. Instead he swats the air freshener that Finn had mocked, he straightens up the papers in his glovebox and even wipes down his dashboard. Basically, he did anything and everything to keep his idle hands occupied in order to refrain from storming in and dragging her out.

It's nearly four a.m. when she does emerge and she looks so _tired_ that he wants to just like, stuff her in a bed of nothing but covers and pillows and stay there for days without the rest of the real world to interfere.

But reality? That bitch is cruel and decides to take another shot at him because Rachel recgonized that truck - it screams Puck. Which normally would be a good thing but when you have a tired rampaging Rachel? It's not so good.

Now he really does shut off the truck and pockets the keys before sliding down, slamming the door behind him. Despite how many times he told himself their next encounter would be better, would be peaceful and adult-like, he couldn't calm down.

And neither could she, if that glare was anything to go by.

"This is borderline harassment! You made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with me, with Noah, or our lives so why are you here? Want to tell me how you're sorry, how you're better than that? What, _Puck_?"

She's seething and breathing hard and all those words? They eat away at him. What the fuck is there left to say? It's too obvious that she doesn't want him there. Hell, he doubts she'd be remorseful if he just, moved to mars or whatever.

But he's not his dad, okay? If he could convince himself of that, he could convince her too. Surely her skull isn't _that_ thick.

"Don't come here anymore or I'll get a restraining order!"

That threat? He doesn't buy it. "Yeah, I believe that. You didn't even get one against Jewfro and he's said things that are much worse."

"Bet Jacob wouldn't have walked out on his son," Rachel bites back and her face falls, pales a moment later because that might have been too far.

"Yeah? So if Jacobo or whatever the fuck his name is knocked you up, you would have let him be a dad? You think that freak is better than me, Berry? For a girl that made straight A's, you're so goddamn stupid."

This was why they never even seriously considered the idea of an actual relationship back in their high school days. When it was just them, just these two, they could say some of the most hurtful things. That's what happens when two brutally honest people get involved in some fucked up situation.

And this? This shit belonged on Days of Our Lives or one of those things, not in Puck's life.

When she musters up enough strength to refrain from just, throwing a stilleto at his head, her voice is a low hiss, "I'm stupid? For a guy that spends all his teenage years on some stupid rebellion spree to prove he his not his father, you're sure turning out to be just like him."

Even in war there were lines you didn't cross, rules you didn't break. And this girl? She just broke them _all_.

The worst part of it? He finds that it's really hard to argue with because he just pulled a move straight out of Elijah Puckerman's playbook; he walked out. He left his son and his mother to fend for themselves.

How was he any better?

Rachel was very perceptive so much so that it was rumored she was a psychic or witch (which would explain the nose) but never had Puck believed them until she started to reach out for him, settled her hand on his forearm. This was her version of an apology because she couldn't bring herself to actually say the words.

"That was out of line. I don't know the entire situation so it was wrong of me to make assumptions just because I was angry. I'm just so ... angry." She says that on a sigh and with defeat and it sounds the exact opposite of angry so he's trying to choke back a tired snicker.

This girl really did make him crazy. Like, absolute bat-shit. He rolls his shoulder to get her hand off of his arm and debates just _leaving_ because obviously neither one of them want him here. But since the last time he did that didn't exactly settle well, he thinks it's best that he doesn't do that.

"I shouldn't have left," he says finally.

Rachel just looks up at him. "Well no, you shouldn't have."

See what he means? That was his version of an apology. He accepted hers without making her spell it out. Why couldn't she return the damn favor?

Oh right, because she's _crazy_. "That was wrong."

"Yes," she says simply and curtly, "it was."

It was tempting to stuff a sock in her mouth (a reoccuring fantasy) just so that she would stop agreeing and just accept it.

"So I'm sorry."

When the earth doesn't open up and swallow him whole, he comes to the conclusion that maybe apologizing isn't as horrible as he had thought.

Well, so he _thought_ but then Rachel started to walk away from him without saying another goddamn word. The only thing more infuriating than listening to her go on one of her tirades? Her silence.

"Rachel!" he calls out, follows after and grips her elbow.

Of course, the contact is unwelcome and she's quick to wrench her arm from his grasp as though his touch was so vile that her skin would rot from the mere connection. "Don't touch me!"

"Then don't walk away."

Rachel's car is so close and that instinct to run is going into full-throttle. Probably wouldn't get her anywhere though. He knows where she lives.

Finally, she spins on her heel and whips him in the face with her hair. There's no remorse or apology for her action and she waits until he's done blinking from the backlash to speak. "You think that your apology is going to make things better? I stayed up all night and every night since with a child who couldn't stop crying. He's blaming himself for this. For you walking away. What can I say to that?"

Puck's heart? It was breaking because he suspected that Noah cried over him but hearing it was a whole 'nother ballgame.

"Your..." she falters, waves her hands to try and put it into words, "apology is not going to make that better. Two words? They're not magic glue, Puck."

By this point he's grasping at straws so he says the first thing that comes to mind, "None of this would have happened if you were just honest from the start. I wouldn't have walked away if I had known."

Obviously this negates any apology or progress because now she is crying and those scalding hot tears only seem to enrage her futher because she _swore_ there would be no more tears as a result of that.

"You _say_ things like that but when you had the chance to meet your son and man up, you _ran_. If you had known from the start, you still would have walked away. Maybe it would have been after the third week straight of little sleep or when the bill collectors started to bang on the doors or when you realized that all your dreams were in a garbage heap and you were _trapped_. It's just like high school again- you talk a big game and flash your biceps but really? You're just that. Talk. And when it's time to man up? You run. That's why you were gone that morning."

Puck's eyes flash and there's a hint of danger that causes her to take a step away. His breathing is labored and there's a familiar sensation washing over him; he wants to set himself on fire and then latch on to her so they can burn out quicker than these slow, scalding flames.

"You were drunk that night Berry and I shouldn't have done-"

"I was perfectly sober, Puck! I went to you _willingly_ because I wanted you."

Both of his hands run through his hair as he tries to stifle a groan. This was starting to become complicated- moreso than it was. It was so much easier that this started from a drunken, one-night stand and nothing something as messy as reciprocated feelings and the like.

"And you wanted me. I know you did."

It took Puck two tries to clear his throat before he was able to speak, and even then it was a hoarse agreement accompanied by a stiff nod. But by then? She had managed to walk away and this time?

He just let her go.

There was a two week period of silence. Despite knowing where Rachel lived, Puck didn't bother to approach her. He didn't seek out a lawyer to understand his rights as far as gaining custody or visitation or whatever other complicated words he heard on Jerry Springer last week.

Honestly, he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do by this point because things are beyond the point of an apology. When they were younger he could just buy her a slushie, compliment her, and look downright _badass_ and everything would be alright.

But now they're older and he's come to find that contrary to the popular sayings of society, that doesn't make you wiser. If anything, he's slumped back to the days of dumpster tossing because he wants someone else to feel as low as he does. It's a slope that's so slippery he doesn't know how to climb out of it.

So that's how he ends up on a street corner. Don't fuckin' ask. It's just him and his guitar and calloused fingers that can pluck a few chords but find no words. That's the problem.

See, Rachel is more than just the mother of his child or some girl that he could've or would've or should've. She's a goddamn disease. Like, one of those STDs that you read about in pamphlets that spread and cause your organs to shut down and effectively ruin your chances at having a normal life not plagued with questions and worries.

He worries that she's not alone.

He questions her state of mind right now. Is she okay? Does she need something? Does their son?

Idly he continues to strum and there's a sorta semi-circle around him and people have even started to drop coins and a few stray dollars at his feet in lieu of a box. Puck didn't come here for the tips or the chance to be recgonized, he came here because he had nowhere else to go.

No, really. Absolutely nowhere else. Because he's still in Columbia, still stuck there and waiting on something. He doesn't even know what he's waiting for anymore.

What the hell has his life come to? Seriously. He's young, he's a sex god (more or less), and he is fairly sucessful. So why was he here? Alone?

These thoughts are getting him nowhere and so he collects the money that's left by his feet and finds someone who is truly homeless and out on the streets, gives it all to them along with his jacket. Maybe he's not as bad of a person as he thought he was, thinks he is.

It doesn't take long for him to end up outside of her place of business once again and that sickening feeling in his stomach is overwhelming. If he didn't belong here, Rachel Berry damned sure didn't. But he doesn't know what else to do. He can't go on living like this and neither can she and their son damned sure can't.

So that's his motivation behind entering this place yet again. Is there some sort of frequent flyer miles for places like these? Can he collect enough glitter and stars and lap dances to earn free drinks? Any other night and this would have been a theory that he would have tested. Hell, he'd probably drag some buddies up here to enjoy the show too.

But Rachel is the show and he'll be damned if someone else is enjoying that. Not that he does. He just appreciates- okay, whatever. He does enjoy it. On any other night.

Tonight he's thinking of a private viewing and if you have enough cash anything is possbile. So he sinks into the plush leather upholstery of the single couch that's in the room. The lights are low and they're supposed to be sultry, sexual, but he's feeling anything but. In fact, he's probably going to throw up soon.

Yeah, Puck's been in enough of these rooms and he gets _more_ than he pays for, thankyouverymuch. And tonight? Oh, he's fucking certain he's going to get a whole lot more than what he paid for- mostly because Rachel was guarnteed to be wearing some pretty high (dangerous) shoes and those things? They can inflict an insane amount of pain and high, costly hospital bills. He's heard things, okay?

When the music starts Puck slouches forward and tries his best to appear to be the harmless gentleman that he's not. He's already paid the bouncer off and he's agreed to leave his post for a few minutes, maybe half an hour if Puck really came through with another wad of cash. It's not like the people in this joint were known for their responsible work ethic, anyhow.

There is a highlight to all of this. When Rachel walks in he can tell, he just knows, that she's nervous. Surely that means she hasn't done this before, tried her best to avoid it. But when someone like Noah Puckerman walks in and hands over bills with double zeros, you'd best believe Rachel was getting in that room. For hours.

She's underdressed. Well, for here she's dressed just right - very short shorts that are more criminal than any skirt she had in high school or beyond and the smallest of bras? tops? that only barely covered her. Puck tries to hide a smirk when he realizes that it's gold stars attatched to strings that are tied around her back, at her neck, holding the shirt? fuckingdangeroustop? to her body.

It was dark enough that Rachel doesn't recgonize him which really is a good thing because if she starts screaming and going insane before the show even starts? He'll have wasted all that money for nothing.

It's a fucking sad day when Puck is paying big bucks to _talk_. Fuck, it's sad that he's even paying for time with a woman. Women should be paying him. Hello, he's a gift.

But tonight isn't about his ego or his capablities. In fact, it's supposed to be about things that are opposite of that; her ego, his incapablities. So when she starts the show with a lap dance, he keeps his hands to his side and she keeps her face stoic and forward as not to reveal that level of discomfort.

This goes on for an extended period of time and hey, he's a man, okay? So sue him if he enjoys it before he stops her because he's not insane. At this point, he'll take what he can get from her.

"Rachel," he breathes, watches as her shoulders tense up and her entire body goes rigid. She knows. "We need to talk."

Just like that she's out of his lap and up so fast that he almost expects her to get whip lash, especially when she's flailing and sputtering and just spouting general nonsense. And was that profanity? Maybe this night would be worth it after all ...

"You're not supposed to be here. This is highly inapproriate and if you cause me to lose my job I will-"

"You'll what? Face it Berry. Because of me you have money for rent the next month." He's trying to be smooth and smug but it doesn't really work because this girl is backwards. Instead of being happy that her rent is paid, that he made this happen for her, she tosses her hands skyward and struggles to breathe. "Are you going to have a stroke or something?"

Rachel looks at him and just stares. It gets to the point where Puck wonders if she's even human or if she's a cyborg with no eyelids. When she does (finally) blink it's long and slow and her eyes open to reveal a weary acceptance. What is done is done - a mantra she has recited oh so many times.

"You shouldn't be here, Puck. What we need - what I need - is time and space and you're not giving me any of that."

Puck starts to stand but he doesn't know why. Wasn't like he could just wrap her up and soothe that tired look. Mostly because he's feeling a little guilty. Was he the cause of that? Probably. His mom had that look on her face a lot too when he was younger.

So he just drops back down into the couch and sags against his knees, face buried in his hands. He feels so old and that's an unnerving feeling. "This is beyond me, Rach. I don't know what I'm doing or what I should be doing."

Rachel wants nothing more than to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even if it was back in high school with a team of slushie-toting Hockey jocks. Instead she's in the private room that reeks of sex and stale smoke with this ... man she's never seen before. They're both defeated and lost and it is all so sad. How did they get here?

Her small hand looks odd when it drops against his shoulder, presses against the cotton of his shirt and soothes away the wrinkles in the fabric. She doesn't even seem to mind that his muscles seem to have tightened at the mere contact. Was this so repulsive?

"Puck... this is an awkward situation and I'm sorry you've been brought into it. I was trying to protect you and I guess to a certain extent, I was trying to protect myself too. I established an uneasy and I must admit an ... unacceptable means of supplying my son with what he needs but it's worked for me and it'll continue to work for me until I can find something better that pays nearly as well for the hours that I work."

That's when Puck looks up from his hands and searches her face. He doesn't know what he's looking for but it's apparent he doesn't find it because his shoulder rolls, knocks her hand off. "That's not what I meant," he supplies in that low voice of his.

Two breaths later and Rach finds enough courage to continue, "I meant what I said. You shouldn't be here. You're off the hook. Noah's young enough that this will be a distant memory and I can promise you that he's loved by me and my dads and Hailey, that girl you so rudely tricked on your first encounter. That's all he needs for now. Maybe when he's older - when we're older - we could handle more. So, just head back to your life, Puck. I won't hold it agaisnt you."

That seems all wrong. A free pass? Yeah, he wants that. It's not like he wants to be involved in this sticky situation if he had a choice. But he did have a choice that night when this all started. He _chose_ to be with her then and if he couldn't walk away then? When it was just them and high school and no strings? How could he possibly do that now when there was so much more at stake?

"I'm not my dad," he murmurs into the silence and avoids looking at her in case her expression doesn't measure the amount of relief he feels when he says this. "I can't walk away. And I'm sorry Rach, but I'm going to be involved. I'd rather do that with you, with your consent and your agreement, but I'm prepared to do anything to make this work."

Rachel is smart enough to recgonize a thinly veiled threat when she hears one. Either she cooperates or he'll force the issue - legally. No matter the outcome it would still be messy and just ... wrong. So she sighs and drops her head.

"You're right."

Now Puck looks at her and his eyes are wide because he hadn't really expected that.

"You are right Puck. It takes two and I understand that. We'll try for a trial basis, okay? And don't push it-" she holds up a hand as though this would physically deter him, "Noah is a bright young boy and you've hurt him. It may take him awhile to come around but we'll try."

'We'll try' she had said, which meant that he had to work on her too. And Noah. And most importantly, himself. It's a lot to take in and he's not sure that he really wants to dwell on this. Right now he wants to feel something other than grief and confusion.

That's why he reaches for her hand, for her wrist, for her comfort. And oddly? She seems to read him and realize this and she can't bring herself to stop from tumbling down against him. At the end of the day she's just so goddamn lonely and this has always been the easiest of things to fall into. _He's_ always been easy to fall into.

Puck chooses to think of their kiss as a signature to their contract that this ... thing would be given a chance. Well, maybe not whatever it was between _them_ because that ship had sailed long ago, but their family. That's what they were - like it or not.

When all is said and done and he's putting his pants back on and kissing her shoulder and neck and collarbone there is nothing to be said. It seems their lives have come full circle.

This time Rachel is the first to leave and she does so without a backwards glance or a 'Thanks baby, that was fun'. Absolutely nothing. That was kinda cold.

But she is waiting out by his truck when he finally gathers up his senses and head out there and while she's not exactly smiling, there's no scowl or any other sign that his advances were unwelcome.

"I'm off tomorrow. Come over and we'll ... start things slowly."

It's the best compromise he was going to get. She doesn't kiss his cheek or any of the things she used to do. She just walks to her car and yet again, he lets her go.

It's no easier this time than it was any other. In fact, this time it might have been harder because now there were certain expectations. Ones he could only hope he lived up to.

Puck slides into his cab, starts up the truck and lays his head against the top of his steering wheel once he's certain that Rachel has already left. He's excited, which is a refreshing turn of events from the past few weeks, months. And he's got a plan.

Oh yeah, he's going to fix this shit classic Puckerone style.

**phew! again, i'm super sorry for the delay. D: but i really love you guys so stick with me please. **


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